Words
by trufflemores
Summary: Sometimes words aren't adequate to describe the love that Kurt and Blaine have for each other. In these cases, the moments in which they express it suffice. Klaine. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

At times, words were almost unnecessary between them.

Kurt would be spread out comfortably on the couch with the sun at his back and a good book in his hands and read until the pages lost their meaning. He would be so absorbed in the story that he wouldn't register Blaine's presence until his cold feet were suddenly cushioned against warm thighs and gentle, lapsing fingers were tracing the shapes of them. Blaine would wait, patient and guileless, for Kurt to finish the chapter or paragraph or sentence that he was on before stealing a quick kiss and – if he was lucky, or Kurt was feeling particularly obliging, or some magical combination therein – perhaps another and another and another until the duration of the kisses seemed altogether unimportant. Horizontality was inevitable either way: whether Kurt returned to his book or more sensual pursuits, they always ended up in each other's arms under the warm, open sunlight, basking in its glow.

Sometimes Kurt would read aloud from his latest magazine while Blaine rested against his chest and listened, Kurt's voice reminding Blaine of gardens and midsummer nights, never hurried but always peripherally aware of the tedious passage of time. He would linger over the finer words and gentle the unwieldy passages, making even the most obtuse text engaging and satisfactory by the end. Blaine would offer the occasional comment to let Kurt know that he was there, that he was listening and enjoying every moment of it, but mostly he would let Kurt speak until they were pulled apart by some outward obligation or another, never the first to leave by choice.

On late nights when sleeplessness threatened to become a permanent state of being for Blaine, Kurt would wander out into the kitchen and pull him into a hug from behind until his tense shoulders relaxed and his breath evened out. They would stay up together and heat up warm milk (of which Kurt drank most of it, but Blaine still managed to drain his mug because the ritual was so very _Kurt _that he'd come to love it in spite of its taste) until drowsiness crept in and they sank underneath the covers and into each other's arms again, too tired for words but still infinitely grateful to sleep together.

There were days when Kurt would drag his feet in, exhausted, and Blaine would fold him into his arms for a hug before refusing to let him completely out of sight. He would offer Kurt closeness when he craved it or space when he needed it. Even so, Blaine learned to leave a slice of cheesecake cooled for him on the counter or his favorite dish close at hand in the fridge. A handful of Post-It notes became tactful ways to say _I'm here _without interrupting the flow of Kurt's routine on the days when Kurt needed space and alone time to recover his good mood. If the timing was perfect, then Blaine would catch him peeling a light-colored tab off his dresser or apron or mirror and scan it, a smile quirking the edges of his lips as he did so. A simple _I love you, too _tacked onto his own dresser or collection of bow ties would be all Blaine needed to know that Kurt had returned to a lighter mood once more.

On the weeks when the clouds mounting from stress finally collapsed and the sun reappeared, they would venture out into town for a fancy dinner together or a night out at the club. Whether Kurt was toasting him with a glass of red wine across a white-cloth covered table or giggling as he sat on Blaine's lap and kissed him breathless at a bar, the spark of unmistakable pleasure in his eyes was worth every moment. Blaine would trade every stage for the thrill of Kurt's laughter when it came, usually squeaking and unexpected, a sort of jarringly appreciative sound that always made Blaine think _I'm so lucky to love him._

Kurt found pleasure with Blaine in the small things, too. He loved the way that Blaine always seemed to draw smiles from other people so easily but had only easy laughter for Kurt, a mantra of _I love this _and _I love you _tangling together whenever they were out and alcohol was involved. He loved karaoke and he loved dancing and he loved drinking coffee and telling stories at the same time, but mostly he loved doing these things _with Kurt, _and regardless of the amount of alcohol pumping through his veins, he always made a point of including Kurt. It meant that Kurt was never far from him and Blaine was never far from Kurt, and he loved that Blaine loved him with kisses and flowers and whispers.

Supporting Blaine on stage was one of the more gratifying experiences for Kurt. Ever since _Something's Coming, _Kurt had seen the true powerhouse potential behind Blaine's voice, and it had been a satisfying road to wander with him as he performed at bars and increasingly jaunty gigs. At last, just when it seemed that he would either make or break it in the industry, he got on Broadway, a minor role in a forgettable play but _Broadway, _nonetheless, and Kurt brought him flowers and got him spectacularly drunk that evening and fell in love with him all over again as they laughed and planned their futures together and lived a dream.

And Blaine fell in love with Kurt the same way, too, watching him carve niches for himself in various outlets with his band and his work with the retired performers' home and his internship at Vogue dot com. As a result of the lattermost, he was able to expand his wardrobe considerably as he dabbled into higher end work. Blaine struggled to put into words how sinfully pretty Kurt could make clothes when he donned them in colorful combinations for trial and error processing in front of a floor length mirror. Even more than his clothes, however, was the confidence with which he wore them. Blaine knew that it wasn't just the way that Kurt could walk into a room and be heard: it was how he could do so without a word, commanding attention without needing to shout it. Even though he devoted every ounce of himself to his designs, he still pulled off amazing numbers with his band, meeting as often as they could and singing at whatever gig would have them, flushed with pride at his own achievements (standing up on stage so handsome, and stunning, and radiant in his success). Mostly Blaine loved that he appreciated all of his roles and not just the ones that seemed most inclined to lead him to the highest success. He loved the elderly home as much as he loved his work with Vogue and Isabelle Wright, and it was one of the most attractive things about him: his appreciation for details and love for people.

Still, it was the homecoming that Kurt savored. He took pleasure in the removal of his armor and his capes and his bells and whistles. He loved that he could _be _with Blaine without feeling pressured: there were no expectations. They drew up a schedule for meals and dishes and other chores and took care of them without needing to be told twice, respecting each other's space and needs without prompting. Kurt had always thought that it would be more difficult to live with someone even after he and Blaine had failed to do so and needed to separate; but once they came back together it was as though he could breathe again, as though he didn't need to sacrifice things in order to gain Blaine's presence. Before, every inch had been precious, every second in solitude, savored. Once their friends had moved out, the urgency evaporated, and the clustered living arrangement became noticeably roomier. No more did they have to compete for showers or quiet or food. Kurt and Blaine shared these things, not always, and not even predictably at that, but generously when they could, and courteously even when time was pinched or necessity dictated otherwise. Kurt loved that Blaine understood his boundaries but still managed to retain his own identity, present in his life without invading it. He loved sharing sweaters and spaces without losing any bit of himself in Blaine, and he knew that Blaine felt the same way, his clothes and closet space bearing the same marks.

At the end of the day, Blaine loved Kurt because Kurt was someone whom he never needed to impress. He loved that Kurt was someone that he could unwind with and relax around and feel comfortable next to even in his pajamas. He loved that he could be himself with Kurt, and he loved that Kurt offered himself with Blaine, too. Reciprocity wasn't always equal between them – sickness ensured it, if nothing else – but it was always heartfelt when it was offered. They existed in each other's spaces not because they worked well together – although they did – or because they seemed a suitable match – which they were.

They were there because they loved each other, and love was not a sum of all parts but a feeling that could not be put into words.

Love could only be put into kisses, and back rubs, and late night coffee runs, and Tylenol, and tissues, and red and yellow roses. It could be put into the way that Kurt felt when Blaine did these things. It could also be put into hugs, and head rubs, and midmorning brunches, and pillow fights, and shared baths, and underwear duets, and the way that Blaine felt when Kurt did the same.

Love was inexplicable and grand.

Listening to Blaine's breathing, already heavy with sleep, as they lay together under the covers, Kurt curled up under his arm and knew that he wouldn't have it any other way.

Blaine, for his part, tucked his chin against Kurt's hair, and gratefully didn't have to imagine his life otherwise, content to hold onto what he had forever.


End file.
